A medievalist's understanding of the ancient world is very different than a classicist's. This is frustrating and highly disorienting, at least for the classicist.
I'm not sure how much of the structure of the medieval education system (for example) is appropriate to attribute to Aristotle (or even the neo-Aristotelian tradition), although people in the Middle Ages may have believed that they were essentially following ancient sources. One might at least note that their knowledge of Greek texts was often second-hand, either through Roman writers or via Latin translations of the originals.
Mittwoch, 2. September 2009
Montag, 31. August 2009
Aristotle & semantics (III)
Been attending lectures to keep myself busy until I leave next month, and I can't seem to get away from Aristotle, even in courses which theoretically have nothing to do with him. So I figure it's a good time to resume my series of reflections on language in Aristotle.
Physica B 3. 194b 16 – 195a 3
Διωρισμένων δὲ τούτων ἐπισκεπτέον περὶ τῶν αἰτίων, ποῖάτε καὶ πόσα τὸν ἀριθμόν ἐστιν. ἐπεὶ γὰρ τοῦ εἰδέναι χάριν ἡ πραγματεία, εἰδέναι δὲ οὐ πρότερον οἰόμεθα ἕκαστον πρὶν ἂν λάβωμεν τὸ διὰ τί περὶ ἕκαστον (τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶ τὸ λαβεῖν τὴν πρώτην αἰτίαν), δῆλον ὅτι καὶ ἡμῖν τοῦτο ποιητέον καὶ περὶ γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς καὶ πάσης τῆς φυσικῆς μεταβολῆς, ὅπως εἰδότες αὐτῶν τὰς ἀρχὰς ἀνάγειν εἰς αὐτὰς πειρώμεθα τῶν ζητουμένων ἕκαστον. ἕνα μὲν οὖν τρόπον αἴτιον λέγεται τὸ ἐξ οὗ γίγνεταί τι ἐνυπάρχοντος, οἷον ὁ χαλκὸς τοῦ ἀνδριάντος καὶ ὁ ἄργυρος τῆς φιάλης καὶ τὰ τούτων γένη· ἄλλον δὲ τὸ εἶδος καὶ τὸ παράδειγμα, τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν ὁ λόγος ὁ τοῦ τί ἦν εἶναι καὶ τὰ τούτου γένη (οἷον τοῦ διὰ πασῶν τὰ δύο πρὸς ἕν, καὶ ὅλως ὁ ἀριθμός) καὶ τὰ μέρη τὰ ἐν τῷ λόγῳ. ἔτι ὅθεν ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς μεταβολῆς ἡ πρώτη ἢ τῆς ἠρεμήσεως, οἷον ὁ βουλεύσας αἴτιος, καὶ ὁ πατηρ τοῦ τέκνου, καὶ ὅλως τὸ ποιοῦν τοῠ ποιουμένου καὶ τὸ μεταβάλλον τοῦ μεταβαλλομένου. ἔτι ὡς τὸ τέλος· τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα, οἷον τοῦ περιπατεῖν ἡ ὑγίεια· διὰ τί γὰρ περιπατεῖ; φαμέν «ἵνα ὑγιαίνῃ», καὶ εἰπόντες οὕτως οἰόμεθα ἀποδεδωκέναι τὸ αἴτιον. καὶ ὅσα δὴ κινήσαντος ἄλλου μεταξὺ γίγνεται τοῠ τέλους, οἷον τῆς ὑγιείας ἡ ἰσχνασία ἢ ἡ κάθαρσις ἢ τὰ φάρμακα ἢ τὰ ὄργανα· πάντα γὰρ ταῦτα τοῦ τέλους ἕνεκά ἐστιν, διαφέρει δὲ ἀλλήλων ὡς ὄντα τὰ μὲν ἔργα τὰ δ’ ὄργανα.
Having defined these things, one must give consideration to the αἰτίαι, of what sort and how many there are. For since our investigation is for the sake of knowing, and we do not think we know each thing before we grasp the ‘why’ [διὰ τί] concerning it, which means to grasp the primary αἰτία, it is clear that one must do this for creation and decay and all natural change, so that knowing the principles of these things we may try to refer each thing which we seek to them. [1] In one way the thing out of which something comes to be is said to be responsible [αἴτιον] for it; thus bronze for a statue, and silver for a bowl, and things of that type. [2] In another way the form and the pattern is responsible [αἴτιον]; that is, the account of [a thing] being what it is and things of this type (thus [the αἰτία] of an octave [is] two in relation to one, or number in general) and the parts in the account. [3] Additionally, [an αἰτία is that] from which the first principle of change or stillness [comes]; thus one who advises is responsible [αἴτιος], and the father [is responsible for] the son, and generally, the making for the thing being made and the changer for the thing changed. [4] Further, [an αἰτία is] like an end [τέλος], that is, the thing for the sake of which; thus, health [is an αἰτία] of walking around. For what does he walk? We say, so that he may be healthy, and saying this we think that we have explained its cause [αἴτιον]. And such are all things which, once something else has begun the motion, meanwhile become [something] for the end.
αἴτιον, αἰτία: originally “responsibility, blame, accusation”, related to αἰτέω “to ask, beg”. In the Hellenistic period it also has the meaning of a story explaining the origins of a custom, which is fairly close to how Aristotle uses it here. It governs the genitive.
‘Αἰτία’ has no good English equivalent. The usual translation is “cause”, and the four αἰτίαι Aristotle lists are conventionally known as [1] material cause, [2] formal cause, [3] efficient cause, and [4] final cause. However, this translation is unsatisfactory for a number of reasons which will become clear. While the Latin causa is similar in meaning to the Greek, ‘cause’ in English is much more restricted. It implies an event, or at least an agent which makes something else happen; the only one of Aristotle’s causes which makes sense in this meaning is efficient cause.
“Reason” or “explanation” (if understood as referring to things, not words) would not be inappropriate, but are often required to translate the Greek λόγος. “Things because of which” is closer to Aristotle’s meaning, but awkward. I have translated the adjective as “responsible” where sense permitted; elsewhere I have used the Greek word.
Moravcsik, who points out that Aristotle’s αἰτίαι are typically not events or propositions, but things, argues that this passage should be interpreted as a theory about understanding (what is necessary in order to ‘know’ something), and that the translation “cause” is therefore highly misleading. Instead, Moravcsik argues, the αἰτίαι should be called “generative factors,” meaning that they account for something being the type of thing it is: “for x to be an aitia of y is for x to be in a relation to y such that the grasp of that relation enables one to understand some important aspect of y” (624). The theory suggests that, although the specific account of each individual thing differs, it is possible to consistently identify certain types of relationships – Moravcsik’s phrase is “configurations in reality” – which explain what a thing is.
Pustejovsky, influenced by Moravcsik’s ideas, incorporated Aristotle’s αἰτίαι into a theory of lexical semantics. His Generative Lexicon involves representing words according to several categories which describe both combination rules and meaning components. One of them, Qualia Structure, which describes the properties of a lexical item, is taken from Aristotle and broken down into categories which correspond with the four αἰτίαι: constitutive, formal, telic, and agentive (Saeed 281). The approach is heavily computational, concerned primarily with identifying sets of elements which would allow us to construct the meaning of any sentence.
It seems to me, however, that the αἰτίαι, as an analytic system which differs significantly from modern logic, potentially have other applications in semantics. When we use words to describe a thing, we pick out certain aspects of a thing which we wish to emphasize; when asked who someone is, for example, we may reply “Polyclitus” or “my neighbor” or “the sculptor” depending on the situation. What the αἰτίαι offer is a way of examining which elements are being picked out and what type of information they are being used to convey.
Additionally, αἰτίαι seem to play a role in how we are able to use words in extended senses. Although Moravcsik suggests that the relationships described by αἰτίαι are ontological, not linguistic, there seems to be some awareness of these relationships in the ways we use language. In particular, the αἰτίαι seem to be relevant to the problem of polysemy, as Pustejovsky recognizes but perhaps does not take far enough, as he does not seem to have investigated how different uses of words relate to their αἰτίαι structure. Are certain αἰτίαι present when we talk about Athena the goddess that are different when we talk about a statue of her?
References:
Moravcsik, J. M. 1975: Aitia as Generative Factor in Aristotle's Philosophy. Dialogue 14, 622-36.
Pustejovsky, James. 1995: The Generative Lexicon. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Physica B 3. 194b 16 – 195a 3
Διωρισμένων δὲ τούτων ἐπισκεπτέον περὶ τῶν αἰτίων, ποῖάτε καὶ πόσα τὸν ἀριθμόν ἐστιν. ἐπεὶ γὰρ τοῦ εἰδέναι χάριν ἡ πραγματεία, εἰδέναι δὲ οὐ πρότερον οἰόμεθα ἕκαστον πρὶν ἂν λάβωμεν τὸ διὰ τί περὶ ἕκαστον (τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶ τὸ λαβεῖν τὴν πρώτην αἰτίαν), δῆλον ὅτι καὶ ἡμῖν τοῦτο ποιητέον καὶ περὶ γενέσεως καὶ φθορᾶς καὶ πάσης τῆς φυσικῆς μεταβολῆς, ὅπως εἰδότες αὐτῶν τὰς ἀρχὰς ἀνάγειν εἰς αὐτὰς πειρώμεθα τῶν ζητουμένων ἕκαστον. ἕνα μὲν οὖν τρόπον αἴτιον λέγεται τὸ ἐξ οὗ γίγνεταί τι ἐνυπάρχοντος, οἷον ὁ χαλκὸς τοῦ ἀνδριάντος καὶ ὁ ἄργυρος τῆς φιάλης καὶ τὰ τούτων γένη· ἄλλον δὲ τὸ εἶδος καὶ τὸ παράδειγμα, τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν ὁ λόγος ὁ τοῦ τί ἦν εἶναι καὶ τὰ τούτου γένη (οἷον τοῦ διὰ πασῶν τὰ δύο πρὸς ἕν, καὶ ὅλως ὁ ἀριθμός) καὶ τὰ μέρη τὰ ἐν τῷ λόγῳ. ἔτι ὅθεν ἡ ἀρχὴ τῆς μεταβολῆς ἡ πρώτη ἢ τῆς ἠρεμήσεως, οἷον ὁ βουλεύσας αἴτιος, καὶ ὁ πατηρ τοῦ τέκνου, καὶ ὅλως τὸ ποιοῦν τοῠ ποιουμένου καὶ τὸ μεταβάλλον τοῦ μεταβαλλομένου. ἔτι ὡς τὸ τέλος· τοῦτο δ’ ἐστὶν τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα, οἷον τοῦ περιπατεῖν ἡ ὑγίεια· διὰ τί γὰρ περιπατεῖ; φαμέν «ἵνα ὑγιαίνῃ», καὶ εἰπόντες οὕτως οἰόμεθα ἀποδεδωκέναι τὸ αἴτιον. καὶ ὅσα δὴ κινήσαντος ἄλλου μεταξὺ γίγνεται τοῠ τέλους, οἷον τῆς ὑγιείας ἡ ἰσχνασία ἢ ἡ κάθαρσις ἢ τὰ φάρμακα ἢ τὰ ὄργανα· πάντα γὰρ ταῦτα τοῦ τέλους ἕνεκά ἐστιν, διαφέρει δὲ ἀλλήλων ὡς ὄντα τὰ μὲν ἔργα τὰ δ’ ὄργανα.
Having defined these things, one must give consideration to the αἰτίαι, of what sort and how many there are. For since our investigation is for the sake of knowing, and we do not think we know each thing before we grasp the ‘why’ [διὰ τί] concerning it, which means to grasp the primary αἰτία, it is clear that one must do this for creation and decay and all natural change, so that knowing the principles of these things we may try to refer each thing which we seek to them. [1] In one way the thing out of which something comes to be is said to be responsible [αἴτιον] for it; thus bronze for a statue, and silver for a bowl, and things of that type. [2] In another way the form and the pattern is responsible [αἴτιον]; that is, the account of [a thing] being what it is and things of this type (thus [the αἰτία] of an octave [is] two in relation to one, or number in general) and the parts in the account. [3] Additionally, [an αἰτία is that] from which the first principle of change or stillness [comes]; thus one who advises is responsible [αἴτιος], and the father [is responsible for] the son, and generally, the making for the thing being made and the changer for the thing changed. [4] Further, [an αἰτία is] like an end [τέλος], that is, the thing for the sake of which; thus, health [is an αἰτία] of walking around. For what does he walk? We say, so that he may be healthy, and saying this we think that we have explained its cause [αἴτιον]. And such are all things which, once something else has begun the motion, meanwhile become [something] for the end.
αἴτιον, αἰτία: originally “responsibility, blame, accusation”, related to αἰτέω “to ask, beg”. In the Hellenistic period it also has the meaning of a story explaining the origins of a custom, which is fairly close to how Aristotle uses it here. It governs the genitive.
‘Αἰτία’ has no good English equivalent. The usual translation is “cause”, and the four αἰτίαι Aristotle lists are conventionally known as [1] material cause, [2] formal cause, [3] efficient cause, and [4] final cause. However, this translation is unsatisfactory for a number of reasons which will become clear. While the Latin causa is similar in meaning to the Greek, ‘cause’ in English is much more restricted. It implies an event, or at least an agent which makes something else happen; the only one of Aristotle’s causes which makes sense in this meaning is efficient cause.
“Reason” or “explanation” (if understood as referring to things, not words) would not be inappropriate, but are often required to translate the Greek λόγος. “Things because of which” is closer to Aristotle’s meaning, but awkward. I have translated the adjective as “responsible” where sense permitted; elsewhere I have used the Greek word.
Moravcsik, who points out that Aristotle’s αἰτίαι are typically not events or propositions, but things, argues that this passage should be interpreted as a theory about understanding (what is necessary in order to ‘know’ something), and that the translation “cause” is therefore highly misleading. Instead, Moravcsik argues, the αἰτίαι should be called “generative factors,” meaning that they account for something being the type of thing it is: “for x to be an aitia of y is for x to be in a relation to y such that the grasp of that relation enables one to understand some important aspect of y” (624). The theory suggests that, although the specific account of each individual thing differs, it is possible to consistently identify certain types of relationships – Moravcsik’s phrase is “configurations in reality” – which explain what a thing is.
Pustejovsky, influenced by Moravcsik’s ideas, incorporated Aristotle’s αἰτίαι into a theory of lexical semantics. His Generative Lexicon involves representing words according to several categories which describe both combination rules and meaning components. One of them, Qualia Structure, which describes the properties of a lexical item, is taken from Aristotle and broken down into categories which correspond with the four αἰτίαι: constitutive, formal, telic, and agentive (Saeed 281). The approach is heavily computational, concerned primarily with identifying sets of elements which would allow us to construct the meaning of any sentence.
It seems to me, however, that the αἰτίαι, as an analytic system which differs significantly from modern logic, potentially have other applications in semantics. When we use words to describe a thing, we pick out certain aspects of a thing which we wish to emphasize; when asked who someone is, for example, we may reply “Polyclitus” or “my neighbor” or “the sculptor” depending on the situation. What the αἰτίαι offer is a way of examining which elements are being picked out and what type of information they are being used to convey.
Additionally, αἰτίαι seem to play a role in how we are able to use words in extended senses. Although Moravcsik suggests that the relationships described by αἰτίαι are ontological, not linguistic, there seems to be some awareness of these relationships in the ways we use language. In particular, the αἰτίαι seem to be relevant to the problem of polysemy, as Pustejovsky recognizes but perhaps does not take far enough, as he does not seem to have investigated how different uses of words relate to their αἰτίαι structure. Are certain αἰτίαι present when we talk about Athena the goddess that are different when we talk about a statue of her?
References:
Moravcsik, J. M. 1975: Aitia as Generative Factor in Aristotle's Philosophy. Dialogue 14, 622-36.
Pustejovsky, James. 1995: The Generative Lexicon. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Mittwoch, 12. August 2009
Anglizismen im Deutschen
Ich will keinen neuen Angriff auf die Anhäufung von Anglizismen im Deutschen anfangen (die gibt es schon reichlich genug). Aber ich glaube, es lohnt sich mal die ganze Sache aus amerikanischer Sicht ein bisschen zu erklären, da die meisten Beiträge zum Thema entweder von Nörglern, die sich über den Verfall der deutschen Sprache alarmieren, oder von Linguisten, die die Sprachinnovationen gegen oben genannte Nörgler verteidigen will, stammen. Normalerweise bin ich eher die Deskriptivistin, aber Reaktionen zum Sprachgebrauch hat man trotzdem.
Ausdrücke wie 'public viewing' oder 'service point' kommen mir, als Muttersprachler des (amerikanischen) Englischen, einfach komisch vor. Sogar bei dem berühmten 'body bag' geht es nicht hauptsächlich darum, dass der Begriff nicht verständlich ist (im Zusammenhang ist es ja klar, was gemeint wird), oder darum, dass ich etwas ganz anderes damit assoziere (obwohl das auch stimmt), sondern dass es gegen mein Sprachgefühl stößt: ich hätte es auf Englisch nie derart ausgedrückt.
Zum Beispiel: Anstatt 'service point' würde ich wahrscheinlich 'information desk' oder vielleicht 'service desk' benutzen; anstatt 'public viewing' (falls es dazu käme, dass wir einen knappen Begriff dafür bräuchten), wäre mir 'public screening', 'open air television' oder so was in der Richtung lieber. Auf jeden Fall ist die Betonung anders: der englische Begriff deutet auf das Angebot, das deutsche auf die Aktivität. Tja, und für 'body bag' gäbe es wahrscheinlich 'sling pack'. 'Grillparty' brauchen wir nicht im Englischen, da 'barbecue' die gleiche Bedeutung hat. Aber 'Handy'** finde ich eigentlich wegen der anderen englischen Bedeutung reht süss: eine Art bilinguales Sprachwitz oder so.
Natürlich ist es beim Aneignen von Fremdwörtern normal, sie anders anzuwenden als in der jeweiligen Fremdsprache. Auch ist es nicht ungewöhnlich, eigene Wortschöpfungen aus Wortteile dieser Sprache zu erfinden. Man denke z.B. an die vielen lateinischen Wortstämme, die für die Sprache der Naturwissenschaften gedient haben. Aber zu sehen, wie die eigene Muttersprache dafür benutzt wird, ist etwas unheimlich.
Allerdings stimmt es auch, dass ich diesen 'Trend', immer mehr englische Wörter zu benutzen, etwas bedenklich finde. Erstens, da ich Deutsch gern habe, weil sie eine Fremdsprache ist, d.h., weil sie nicht Englisch ist. Deshalb finde ich es traurig, wenn die schöne deutsche Wörter durch lauter englischen Begriffe ersetzt werden. Das mag etwas widerspruchlich sein, da Englisch dafür bekannt ist, dass man sehr häufig Wörter aus aller Welt aneignet, was die Sprache deutlich bereichert hat. Ich bin aber nicht so sicher, dass es im Deutschen und in vielen anderen Sprachen ebenfalls eine Bereicherung ist, wenn man plötzlich viele englische Wörter gebraucht. Es hängt nämlich mit der Verbreitung von amerikanischer kapitalistischer Kultur zusammen, und darauf könnte ich eigentlich entbehren.
Noch eine Bemerkung: Einige haben wohl bemerkt, dass ich englische Wörter (was meist eigentlich heisst: Wörter lateinischer Herkunft) im eigenen Sprachgebrauch vermeide, wenn es ein entsprechendes deutsches Wort dafür gibt. Es geht teilweise darum, dass die Worte mir einfach besser gefallen. Aber einen anderen Grund gibt es auch. Ich bin nämlich oft nicht sicher, ob ich ein Wort gebrauche, weil es auf Deutsch üblich ist, oder weil ich es unbewusst aus dem Englischen übertrage. Mein Verhältnis zur Anglizismen ist also aus vielen Gründe etwas zwiespältig: sie beunruhigen mich sowohl aufgrund meiner Kenntnis des Englischen, sowie auch meines (sagen wir) 'Nichtmuttersprachlertums' des Deutschen.
**Es fiel mir übrigens erst neuerdings ein, dass ich 'Handy' lange falsch ausgesprochen habe. Nach deutscher Rechtschreibung sollte das 'a' als /a/ (wie im 'alt,' 'lang') ausgesprochen werden, nicht als /ɛ/ wie im englischen Wort. Diese Vokale wird auf Deutsch meist mit 'ä' representiert. Man schriebe das Wort etwa so: Händi. (Schön, oder?)
Ausdrücke wie 'public viewing' oder 'service point' kommen mir, als Muttersprachler des (amerikanischen) Englischen, einfach komisch vor. Sogar bei dem berühmten 'body bag' geht es nicht hauptsächlich darum, dass der Begriff nicht verständlich ist (im Zusammenhang ist es ja klar, was gemeint wird), oder darum, dass ich etwas ganz anderes damit assoziere (obwohl das auch stimmt), sondern dass es gegen mein Sprachgefühl stößt: ich hätte es auf Englisch nie derart ausgedrückt.
Zum Beispiel: Anstatt 'service point' würde ich wahrscheinlich 'information desk' oder vielleicht 'service desk' benutzen; anstatt 'public viewing' (falls es dazu käme, dass wir einen knappen Begriff dafür bräuchten), wäre mir 'public screening', 'open air television' oder so was in der Richtung lieber. Auf jeden Fall ist die Betonung anders: der englische Begriff deutet auf das Angebot, das deutsche auf die Aktivität. Tja, und für 'body bag' gäbe es wahrscheinlich 'sling pack'. 'Grillparty' brauchen wir nicht im Englischen, da 'barbecue' die gleiche Bedeutung hat. Aber 'Handy'** finde ich eigentlich wegen der anderen englischen Bedeutung reht süss: eine Art bilinguales Sprachwitz oder so.
Natürlich ist es beim Aneignen von Fremdwörtern normal, sie anders anzuwenden als in der jeweiligen Fremdsprache. Auch ist es nicht ungewöhnlich, eigene Wortschöpfungen aus Wortteile dieser Sprache zu erfinden. Man denke z.B. an die vielen lateinischen Wortstämme, die für die Sprache der Naturwissenschaften gedient haben. Aber zu sehen, wie die eigene Muttersprache dafür benutzt wird, ist etwas unheimlich.
Allerdings stimmt es auch, dass ich diesen 'Trend', immer mehr englische Wörter zu benutzen, etwas bedenklich finde. Erstens, da ich Deutsch gern habe, weil sie eine Fremdsprache ist, d.h., weil sie nicht Englisch ist. Deshalb finde ich es traurig, wenn die schöne deutsche Wörter durch lauter englischen Begriffe ersetzt werden. Das mag etwas widerspruchlich sein, da Englisch dafür bekannt ist, dass man sehr häufig Wörter aus aller Welt aneignet, was die Sprache deutlich bereichert hat. Ich bin aber nicht so sicher, dass es im Deutschen und in vielen anderen Sprachen ebenfalls eine Bereicherung ist, wenn man plötzlich viele englische Wörter gebraucht. Es hängt nämlich mit der Verbreitung von amerikanischer kapitalistischer Kultur zusammen, und darauf könnte ich eigentlich entbehren.
Noch eine Bemerkung: Einige haben wohl bemerkt, dass ich englische Wörter (was meist eigentlich heisst: Wörter lateinischer Herkunft) im eigenen Sprachgebrauch vermeide, wenn es ein entsprechendes deutsches Wort dafür gibt. Es geht teilweise darum, dass die Worte mir einfach besser gefallen. Aber einen anderen Grund gibt es auch. Ich bin nämlich oft nicht sicher, ob ich ein Wort gebrauche, weil es auf Deutsch üblich ist, oder weil ich es unbewusst aus dem Englischen übertrage. Mein Verhältnis zur Anglizismen ist also aus vielen Gründe etwas zwiespältig: sie beunruhigen mich sowohl aufgrund meiner Kenntnis des Englischen, sowie auch meines (sagen wir) 'Nichtmuttersprachlertums' des Deutschen.
**Es fiel mir übrigens erst neuerdings ein, dass ich 'Handy' lange falsch ausgesprochen habe. Nach deutscher Rechtschreibung sollte das 'a' als /a/ (wie im 'alt,' 'lang') ausgesprochen werden, nicht als /ɛ/ wie im englischen Wort. Diese Vokale wird auf Deutsch meist mit 'ä' representiert. Man schriebe das Wort etwa so: Händi. (Schön, oder?)
Mittwoch, 5. August 2009
Unexpected applications of a classical education
So...I walk into Norlin library the other day after my Greek art and archaeology class, and what do I see?
That's right. Pergamene columns! And guttae!
When I saw the columns I was pleased with myself for recognizing the type of capital being used. When I noticed the guttae I was pleased with the architect for the classical citation. (Mind you, I'm not sure what the guttae are doing inside the building, but even so: cool.)
The Women's Studies cottage, of course, uses Corinthian capitals.
Who knew classics had so many...uh, "practical" applications?
That's right. Pergamene columns! And guttae!When I saw the columns I was pleased with myself for recognizing the type of capital being used. When I noticed the guttae I was pleased with the architect for the classical citation. (Mind you, I'm not sure what the guttae are doing inside the building, but even so: cool.)
The Women's Studies cottage, of course, uses Corinthian capitals.
Who knew classics had so many...uh, "practical" applications?
Donnerstag, 30. Juli 2009
Packing: The Longlist
Two months till Germany. I'm very gradually starting to think about packing and -- most importantly -- deliberate about which books to take with me. Rather a daunting task, even though I've tried to weed out my collection a bit over the last couple of months. Needless to say, most of it is staying here, it's just a question of what.
And this still leaves everything else, and it's rather hard to guess what I'm going to need...German literature I can, of course, acquire easily enough once I'm there, but I'd rather not have to buy a book because I need it for class while my copy is sitting unread in Boulder several thousand miles away! I took a look at the Vorlesungsverzeichnis to see what's being offered, which at least gives me some idea of what I'm likely to need during the winter semester, but there's still comfort reading, and miscellaneous projects, and books that I've had forever and never had a chance to get around to reading...
I'm going to have to double-check the baggage policies for US Airways, and then take another look at my suitcase and get a sense of how things are going to fit. I need to buy another suitcase, but I'm still not sure how much space that is going to leave me. Besides clothes, I also need to leave space for:
- Langenscheidt, Pocket Dictionary German-English/English-German **
- Wahrig, Wörterbuch der deutschen Sprache **
- Duden, Fremdwörterbuch
- Richerd Lederer, Reference Grammar of the German Language
- LSJ **
- Smyth's Greek Grammar **
- Grund- und Aufbauwortschatz Griechisch
- Sidgwick's Greek Verse Composition
- Hans Orberg, Lingua Latina
- Moreland & Fleischer, Latin: An Intensive Course
- Nicholas J. Brown, New Penguin Russian Course
- Morrison & Gauthier, French Grammar
- Lewis V. Thomas, Elementary Turkish
- John Saeed, Semantics
- Handbook of Narratology **
- Dictionary of Literary Terms
- Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poetics **
- Todorov, The Fantastic
- Horkheimer & Adorno, Dialektik der Aufklärung **
- Mikhail Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination
- Peter Bürger, Theorie der Avantgarde
- Walter Kaufmann, Tragedy and Philosophy **
- Kant, Critique of Judgment
And this still leaves everything else, and it's rather hard to guess what I'm going to need...German literature I can, of course, acquire easily enough once I'm there, but I'd rather not have to buy a book because I need it for class while my copy is sitting unread in Boulder several thousand miles away! I took a look at the Vorlesungsverzeichnis to see what's being offered, which at least gives me some idea of what I'm likely to need during the winter semester, but there's still comfort reading, and miscellaneous projects, and books that I've had forever and never had a chance to get around to reading...
- Kleist, Werke in einem Band **
- Goethe, Faust; Dramen **
- Ingeborg Bachmann
- Ilse Aichinger
- Franz Kafka
- E.T.A. Hoffmann, Erzählungen
- Hermann Hesse, Das Glasperlenspiel
- Hermann Broch, Der Tod des Vergil **
- Özdamar, Die Brücke vom goldenen Horn
- Friedrich Nietzsche, Die Geburt der Tragödie
- Russische Zaubermärchen
- Chekhov, Рассказы
- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
- Nicholas Ostler, Empires of the Word
- George Steiner, After Babel
- Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red
- Michael Ayrton, The Maze-Maker
- Christopher Logue, War Music
- Mary Renault, Rosemary Sutcliff
- Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca
- Ursula le Guin
- Italo Calvino
- Julio Cortazar, Hopscotch
- A.S. Byatt, Possession
- Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again
I'm going to have to double-check the baggage policies for US Airways, and then take another look at my suitcase and get a sense of how things are going to fit. I need to buy another suitcase, but I'm still not sure how much space that is going to leave me. Besides clothes, I also need to leave space for:
- Laptop
- Sewing kit
- Patterns + fabric
- Plush pegasus family
- Tea (whatever's left at that point)
Dienstag, 28. Juli 2009
Ships and Temples
A discussion of temple architecture in my Greek art and archaeology class sent me scrambling for the dictionary, wondering about the relationship between the word naos, used to describe the main chamber of a temple, and ships (the Greek word is naus). Christian churches, obviously drawing on Greek models, refer to the body of the church as the nave (in German, Schiff), recalling the Latin word navis. Which left me wondering, is there any actual etymological connection between these two very similar Greek words?
Apparently not. I started off in the stacks. Hofmann's Etymologisches Wörterbuch des griechischen produced the following:
This still leaves the question, why 'nave'? The OED suggests it is derived from a post-classical use of the Latin navis or an Italian or Spanish equivalent. Not much help so far.
A little more searching on the web turned up an article from 1926 which makes some doubtful assumptions (etymological and otherwise):
Another article provides more substantial evidence for the Christian connection between the church and ships. The etymological claims are also much more conservative:
So it seems we can trace this usage to the early Christian period, although it still does not explain how the Latin word navis came to be applied to architecture. Was this inspired by a perceived resemblance between the shape of a ship and the shape of the main chamber of a temple or church? Or is it based on a false etymology of the Greek word naos? I would tend to speculate the latter. Certainly the Greek words for 'temple' and 'ship' are similar enough to be easily confused, and this sort of etymological play was not untypical of the Romans -- or the Greeks, either, for that matter. However, this seems to be a post-Hellenic usage, not a connection that the Greeks themselves drew, which was my original question.
A final note is in order, however: In the process of this research I came across an interesting article (for those with academic journal access, here) on analogies between temples and ships in Homer. He notes the use of νηοὺς - - ˘ θεῶν ("temples of the gods") in Od. 6.10 and suggests word play with a common formula for "swift ship", for example, νηῦς - - ˘ θοή in the same metrical position in Od. 24.299. He cites a number of examples of possible cultural associations of temples with ships; I did not find them completely convincing, but I'll cite his explanation of the etymology here.
Apparently not. I started off in the stacks. Hofmann's Etymologisches Wörterbuch des griechischen produced the following:
νᾱός, ion. νηός, att. νεώς: m. Tempel, Heiligtum. Als Götterwohnung aus *νασ-ϝ-ος zu ναίω (aor. νάσ-σαι) wohne.Under ναῦς (ion. νηῦς, gen. νη(ϝ)ός or νεώς) there is no useful information, except a comparison to Indogermanic *naus, and Latin navis (war mir schon klar), so the root seems to be pretty basic, and, more importantly, entirely unrelated to the word for temple.
This still leaves the question, why 'nave'? The OED suggests it is derived from a post-classical use of the Latin navis or an Italian or Spanish equivalent. Not much help so far.
A little more searching on the web turned up an article from 1926 which makes some doubtful assumptions (etymological and otherwise):
The ship was for the Greeks something sacred and was regarded as the gift of the Olympian Gods. The economic life of the population around the Aegean Sea was based on shipping. It was no mere accident that the inner shrine of Greek temples was given the same name as the ship, naos. The word nave used in the Christian churches to this day is probably derived from the Latin word navis and handed down from the days of the temples, and it is known that in the early Christian Church the ship stood as a sacred symbol.(Hovgaard, William. "The Arsenal in Piraeus and the Ancient Building Rules," Isis 8.1 (1926): p. 18.)
Another article provides more substantial evidence for the Christian connection between the church and ships. The etymological claims are also much more conservative:
NAVE (Gr. ναός, εὐκτήριον τοῦ λαοῦ; Lat. navis, capsum; Fr. nof; Ital. Nave; Ger. Schiff, Langhaus) Authorities are not agreed on the etymology of the word, some deriving it from (1) ναός, temple, which is the ordinary Greek term for what we should call "the body of a church;" and others from (2) navis, a ship. The fact that in several European languages (e.g. French and Italian), the corresponding word is used to designate both "ship," and "part of a church" may be thought to favour the latter hypothesis.[...]As being the receptacle of the people, it was no great stretch of fancy to speak of it under the figure of a ship. The Ark was at all times the Old Testament figure of the Church. The idea of the comparison between the church and a ship was elaborated very early.[...]The resemblance of nave to its Greek equivalent (ναός) may be nothing more than accidental.(Smith, William, and Daniel Cheetham. A Dictionary of Christian Antiquities, v. 2 (1880): p. 1381)
So it seems we can trace this usage to the early Christian period, although it still does not explain how the Latin word navis came to be applied to architecture. Was this inspired by a perceived resemblance between the shape of a ship and the shape of the main chamber of a temple or church? Or is it based on a false etymology of the Greek word naos? I would tend to speculate the latter. Certainly the Greek words for 'temple' and 'ship' are similar enough to be easily confused, and this sort of etymological play was not untypical of the Romans -- or the Greeks, either, for that matter. However, this seems to be a post-Hellenic usage, not a connection that the Greeks themselves drew, which was my original question.
A final note is in order, however: In the process of this research I came across an interesting article (for those with academic journal access, here) on analogies between temples and ships in Homer. He notes the use of νηοὺς - - ˘ θεῶν ("temples of the gods") in Od. 6.10 and suggests word play with a common formula for "swift ship", for example, νηῦς - - ˘ θοή in the same metrical position in Od. 24.299. He cites a number of examples of possible cultural associations of temples with ships; I did not find them completely convincing, but I'll cite his explanation of the etymology here.
The nominative singular of νηός, “temple,” is identical to the genitive singular of νηῦς, “ship.” One often finds such superficial similarities in Greek and elsewhere between forms originally quite distinct: νηός “temple,” derives from proto-Greek *naswos, the verbal reflex of which is *nas-io > ναίω, v, “to dwell,” a fact not lost on the author of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (cf. νηὸν ἔνασσον, 298), while νηός, “of a ship,” comes from proto-Greek *nawos and ultimately from PIE *neH2ues,which is widely attested. (544)He also makes a couple of intriguing remarks on connections between power/leadership and seafaring - this metaphor makes sense for a culture where seafaring is of supreme importance - as well as the connection of ships with temples in another context: their presence as dedications. (For the sake of readability I've eliminated his notes on sources in classical writers here; those interested are referred to the original article.)
The equation of temple and ship gives special point to the fact that as helmsman of Olympus Zeus 'sit[s] high on the benches' what the ancients rightly saw as a seafaring metaphor....Ships and parts thereof made common dedications, like the Roman rostra, usually at temples, and Christian lore says that Jesus, who like the Egyptian ferryman of the dead, Mahaf, was a fisher of souls taught from the boat of the Rock (Simon Peter) on whom he would build his church. (544)(from Griffith, R. Drew. "Temple as Ship in Odyssey 6.10," American Journal of Philology 123 (2002): 541-547.)
Freitag, 3. Juli 2009
Numbers
French, week 2.
Once again I'm reminded of why I generally skip over numbers and dates at the initial stages of learning a language. Admittedly this is partly self-indulgence: I want to get on to the more juicy bits of grammar as quickly as possible, and numbers are usually irregular and not very useful for understanding the working of the language as a whole. Because I'm usually learning the language for reading knowledge, rather than for travel or communication in a foreign country, it's also not extremely urgent, since in written texts numbers typically play a relatively small role.
This approach is of course the opposite of most contemporary language courses, which teach numbers quite early on, usually in the first month or so (one notable exception is Russian, where numbers are usually delayed -- for good reason -- until after the genitive plural has been taught, sometimes until the second semester). However, if immediate survival skills in the language are not at issue, I think there are some good reasons why putting off numbers actually makes sense. Numbers are (I find) actually one of the more difficult parts of a language to learn. We process them differently. Fine, it's easy enough to recite the numbers from 1 to 10 or whatever, but it takes much longer until we actually are able to connect them to something. Try doing mental arithmetic or remembering a phone number in a foreign language: not so simple. Furthermore, numbers are relatively separate from the rest of a language. Most words we use only in connection with other words; we have to know what forms they take, how to distinguish an object from a subject or a past tense from a present, how an adjective changes when used with a feminine noun rather than a masculine, what complements a verb takes. But numbers remain fairly isolated. They're more like placeholders, they don't have particular characteristics of their own, they don't mark out syntactical or rhetorical relationships. Instead, they refer to a separate symbolic system with its own set of rules.
At the initial stages of learning a language, I'm inclined to see this as a distraction. Instead of spending time constructing sentences and getting comfortable with the way the language works, its patterns and rhythms, the student is forced to divert his attention to mastering a bunch of idiosyncratic expressions and performing the double process of trying to produce sentences in an unfamiliar language and at the same time do mental calculations which may actually hinder the process of trying to think in the language.
Once again I'm reminded of why I generally skip over numbers and dates at the initial stages of learning a language. Admittedly this is partly self-indulgence: I want to get on to the more juicy bits of grammar as quickly as possible, and numbers are usually irregular and not very useful for understanding the working of the language as a whole. Because I'm usually learning the language for reading knowledge, rather than for travel or communication in a foreign country, it's also not extremely urgent, since in written texts numbers typically play a relatively small role.
This approach is of course the opposite of most contemporary language courses, which teach numbers quite early on, usually in the first month or so (one notable exception is Russian, where numbers are usually delayed -- for good reason -- until after the genitive plural has been taught, sometimes until the second semester). However, if immediate survival skills in the language are not at issue, I think there are some good reasons why putting off numbers actually makes sense. Numbers are (I find) actually one of the more difficult parts of a language to learn. We process them differently. Fine, it's easy enough to recite the numbers from 1 to 10 or whatever, but it takes much longer until we actually are able to connect them to something. Try doing mental arithmetic or remembering a phone number in a foreign language: not so simple. Furthermore, numbers are relatively separate from the rest of a language. Most words we use only in connection with other words; we have to know what forms they take, how to distinguish an object from a subject or a past tense from a present, how an adjective changes when used with a feminine noun rather than a masculine, what complements a verb takes. But numbers remain fairly isolated. They're more like placeholders, they don't have particular characteristics of their own, they don't mark out syntactical or rhetorical relationships. Instead, they refer to a separate symbolic system with its own set of rules.
At the initial stages of learning a language, I'm inclined to see this as a distraction. Instead of spending time constructing sentences and getting comfortable with the way the language works, its patterns and rhythms, the student is forced to divert his attention to mastering a bunch of idiosyncratic expressions and performing the double process of trying to produce sentences in an unfamiliar language and at the same time do mental calculations which may actually hinder the process of trying to think in the language.
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